


Time Debates with Decay

by WitchipediaAus



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 1920s slang for like one line, Alternate Universe - Fae, Arranged Marriage, Canon Rewrite, Canonical Character Death, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Elf Culture & Customs, F/M, Implied/Referenced Violence, Non-Canon Inquisitor (Dragon Age), The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), bc its fun, kind of fusion for an original work, she just gets angry fast, the inquisitor considers her party to be her friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25568386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchipediaAus/pseuds/WitchipediaAus
Summary: Court intrigue adores a mystery. Luckily, that is exactly what Inquisitor Maeve is.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Original Character(s)





	Time Debates with Decay

Maeve stepped into the Winter Palace’s courtyard with all the grace a runaway Fae could have – which was quite a lot, given that she was a Queen and knew exactly what impression she was supposed to give off. Her shoes were new, and she hadn’t walked much in them before arriving, but they were similar enough in style to her own that she figured it out with some ease. They were a dark green, seemingly black in the current lighting, with small leaves and flowers embroidered in dark natural shades around the ankle and heel. Nearly flat, as she had wanted, though there was a small heel that she could have done without. Her dress looked looser than it was, colored a somewhat brighter green than her shoes, gems sewn on the torso – greenstone and a dark, purple-ish one – and embroidered petals and stems, entwined to lead down and across her side to the end of the dress. She refused the sleeves the designer originally wanted, getting instead a cape that started at the neck with loops of fabric going around her and joining at the back.

She stood out for her outfit alone, never mind her position. Honestly, she liked the former better as a reason to draw attention. That, at least, had been a choice and not something she’d felt obligated to accept. Not that the attendees cared, as caught up in the drama as they were.

She sighed as she heard the muttering start, noting specifically the woman who whispered, “The Inquisitor? An elf?” and her companion who added, “Maker forbid!”

As a person, she cared little for gossip and the opinions of others. As a leader and a person of respect, she knew she had to, knew that people had to think the very best of her. Sometimes, always brief, she wished she could be like Sera, her only responsibility being a force of chaos. She stayed, however, because she couldn’t bear to leave the people in the hands of those she still didn’t trust one hundred percent.

It took about an hour for her to make the Palace adore her. She’d always loved socializing, and courtly intrigue only made it more fun. Her advisors seemed somewhat shocked at her ability to manipulate, but she simply smiled at them and said, “Nobles always love a mystery.” Besides, she’d been made queen for a reason.

It was during a lull in activity, shortly after meeting Morrigan and exploring the servant's quarters, that she caught sight of someone familiar in the ballroom. She made half a movement to confront him before Florianne stepped in front of her. Maeve managed to pay half-attention to the conversation she was in – mostly to the fact that she was being lied to _again,_ though court manners made it impossible for her to both punch someone or march away.

(A reason she disliked being in power, but she’d gotten through countless years in more stressful political climates and this was nothing, in the end.)

She got away as fast as was acceptable at the end of the dance, once again caught up in trying to spy whoever she’d seen as her advisors crowded around her. They asked some questions, likely important, but she was impatient and had no time for being polite. “Florianne tried to convince me Gaspard was up to something – which I don’t doubt – but she was lying about something, and at this point, I say Briala should be put directly on the throne as she’s clearly more aware of everything than the other two combined.”

She didn’t take in any of their expressions, taking off on her own to search the room and balconies. Her search didn’t take long, though she didn’t find him. Instead, a pair of hands covered her eyes from behind, and in any other case she’d have stabbed the person who did such a thing, she immediately knew that the texture of their hands was familiar, comforting in a way she rarely felt.

She brought her own hands up to cover the other’s, noting with familiarity the contrast in heat – her own hot as sand on a sunny day and his colder than ice – smiling widely. “And who are you, my good sir?” She asked, laughter and fondness tinging the edges of her words.

“I think you already know, my dear,” whispered the man, his tone matching hers. The deep timbre of it washed over her, bringing to mind faint memories of home. After a moment of being lost in each other, he brought his hands away, taking hers with him, and spun her around to face him slowly.

She was smiling still, as she looked over his outfit. The silver-white vest was patterned with simple, skilled embroidery and she didn’t have to look down to know that he was wearing white Orlesian-style heels with colored toe boxes that matched her shoes. Minus the embroidery, perhaps, but she wouldn’t mark it as impossible. “You look ritzy tonight.”

He smiled gently, a break only those close to him would notice in his stoic nature. “As do you. Any specific reason you’re here?”

“I could ask you the same,” She laughed, trying to keep herself quiet. She leaned towards him, swinging up on her toes to reach his ear, and whispered, “There’s going to be an assassination tonight.”

“Hopefully you aren’t committing it, Inquisitor,” He replied, half-joking. She shook her head softly.

“No, but I may have to endorse it if Celene doesn’t get herself together. And drastically reform herself and her empire in the next hour.”

“Traitorous,” He snarked, but didn’t sound overly concerned. “You want Briala, don’t you?”

“Of course. Gaspard is too similar to you to ever rule alone–” he knocked her shoulder gently with his own– “and Celene would never let herself be ruled by an elf. Especially one she was involved with.”

He frowned, and she saw a hint of distaste in his eyes. “I dislike Gaspard, and the thought of him even touching the throne is concerning.”

“I do as well. Unfortunately, Orlais is touchy about elves in power, no matter who puts them there.” He made a noise of annoyance, and she stepped back away. “I have something to investigate, Ai. Do search me out again later, would you?”

“Of course, May.” He brought her palm to his face and kissed it, gentle as snow. At any other time, she would return the gesture, but eyes were on them who would fail to understand, and they both knew it.

She slipped away from him reluctantly, feeling his eyes follow her until she left the ballroom. It took until she got to the Royal Wing entrance.

“Who was that?” Sera asked her, as they tended the more serious wounds from a battle. At her confused glance, Sera clarified, “The man that kissed your hand. He’s not been around.”

“And you would know,” Maeve said, to which Sera grinned. There was no beating around the bush – rather, she had no need to. She was not in the habit of lying about her family. “He’s my husband.”

“Husband?” Vivienne and Sera were equally shocked, perhaps even in agreement on the feelings her statement caused. “You’ve never mentioned a husband,” Vivienne added. Sera nodded, bafflement written on her face.

“He was never relevant before.” She tied off the bandage she’d been wrapping around Cassandra’s upper arm, patting on it to make it sit right before cleaning off another on her leg. “And our fonder feelings for each other are somewhat recent.”

Cassandra furrowed her eyebrows, “It was arranged?”

Maeve shrugged. “We were all at a stand-still. It was the only way to get a solution as quickly as we needed it.” She started wrapping the cut, moving as fast as she accurately could. “I, at least, arranged it myself. Others are rarely so lucky.” She smiled softly, “He isn’t a bad man. I think that’s why I was okay with it.”

“A stand-still?” Vivienne commented, “I can’t imagine what would bring a town to that while they had a problem.”

“Between an elf and a human?” She half-snapped. Ailill’s illusion of a form, while necessary here, was going to cause drama, unfortunately. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “The massacre of our people meant we needed a leader that we hadn’t had need of for centuries. The elders,” She tied off the bandage, packing the remaining into her pack, “were deciding between me and him. They were tied. After days of no progress, I met up with him and proposed a solution. Neither of us saw it as bad, and the elders allowed it.”

She felt a little guilty at the shocked look Vivienne had, presumably at her annoyed remark. “I apologize. Though I will not take back my words, there was no reason to get upset at a genuine remark.” Well, there was, but it was not exactly her fight.

Vivienne half-nodded in acceptance, “I meant no offense.” Maeve nodded in place of replying.

“We should continue on,” Cassandra cut in, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

Maeve placed her sword more comfortably on her hip, abandoning the shield she’d stolen in the fight. She no longer needed it, and, unlike most of the warriors she’d met so far, was fully capable of improvising if she found herself in need.

Besides, it was far easier to travel without the extra weight.

She could still feel Florianne’s blood under her nails, despite having washed her hands numerous times. It was not with any regret, however, and she was thankful for that mercy. She felt worse about Celene’s. The stains on the floor were going to necessitate a replacement to fully abandon the heavy feeling surrounding the area.

But she didn’t feel anything but pride for Briala, fully in power as she was. Orlais could try to remove her; they would only be met with Maeve’s raw fury. She didn’t need the Inquisition’s army to back her.

Morrigan came out on the balcony for a bit, and Maeve was glad to welcome her to the Inquisition. If she had lied at any point in their interactions, she’d been unable to recognize it, which was a feat in and of itself. After Morrigan left, she was left alone for a brief moment, in which she was somewhat antsy. Though Ailill lied often, he had never done so to her, at least while they were married. Yet, he had been absent when Florianne assassinated Celene, and when Briala made her speech.

She didn’t have to worry, of course. She felt him enter onto the balcony, steps firm yet silent and holding the same impact as always. “You’re always so dramatic,” She huff-laughed, turning to face him, half-sitting on the railing.

“And you aren’t?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was what we did.” He stood next to her, fingers lightly brushing the railing. She leaned on him, head resting below his shoulder.

“I didn’t miss politics,” She admitted.

“You wanted a break,” He shook his head before resting it on top of hers. “I don’t blame you. As similar as they are to ours, Orlais takes the strangest things seriously.”

She hummed, exhaustion dripping from her bones. “It’s over, at least. Briala will do good. Hopefully, I won’t have to pay too much attention any time soon.”

They sat in silence for a moment, simply absorbing each other’s presence. “It is a lovely night,” Ailill murmured. “And the music is still going.”

She smiled, sure he could feel her doing so, “My shoes are nearly worn down to my heel.”

“I’m sure dancing barefoot is the least controversial thing you’ve done tonight.”

She sighed, mock-put upon. “Next song?” He lifted his head as she shifted away. “This one should end in a few seconds.”

He smiled at her, and the feeling of winter-cold that rushed over her – sticking to her ears and neck – was nothing but comforting. He offered her his arm and she gladly accepted. She giggled quietly, feeling giddy despite the numerous times they’d danced together. He looked at her, as they stood by the dance floor, visibly fond.

It didn’t matter much to her in the moment – people rushing around her as the song ended and dancers switched out and they joined in – what it took to get to where they were. They were truly husband and wife now, not just in name. That was enough.

It would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me @witchapedia-aus or @gnawednoble-and-regret on tumblr!  
> i may add more to this later if i come up with more areas may would deal with differently  
> title from shakespeare's sonnet 15


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